by Diane Guest
Why did she have to burn her feet? At least if she could walk reasonably well, she could take her leave of him with some dignity. As it was, she doubted that she could even get off the horse alone. So engrossed was she in trying to figure out how to get into her house without his help that she never noticed that they had reined up in front of the Meade house.
She needn't have concerned herself with the logistics of getting down, as she was off the horse, in his arms, and into the house before she had time to consider the matter any further. "I want John to look at those feet," he said abruptly, and left the office to look for the doctor.
Susannah's indignation melted away and she was overwhelmed by a desire to cry. I know he doesn't love me, she thought, and I was a fool to even consider the possibility. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change how I feel. Oh God, why did this have to happen?
She began to unwrap her feet. There are no Prince Charmings, she told herself, and no happy endings, either. It's about time you learned to accept life as it is, not as you dream it should be.
She was cautiously inspecting one foot when Kate came in with Sylvanus. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Kate, thank goodness, was making such a fuss that Susannah hoped her distress would go unnoticed.
"John is over at your house," Kate said as she helped Susannah with the other bandage. "Jenny came to get him first thing this morning."
Susannah was hit with a wave of guilt. She had not thought about Edwin all morning. She had been so concerned with her own selfish daydreaming that she had not even once thought about what she had left the others to cope with. "What happened?" she asked fearfully.
"I don't think it was much to be concerned about," Kate said. "Jenny just said that Edwin was acting strangely and could John come over."
Susannah looked over at Sylvanus and was surprised to find him staring at her in the most peculiar way. "Do you want me to walk over and see what's happening?" he asked.
"Would you?" Her voice cracked when she spoke to him and she prayed that he would leave before she began to cry.
He nodded and left without another word.
Kate was concerned. "Are you all right, Susannah?"
Susannah brushed away a tear. "Of course I am, Kate. Just tired, that's all. It's been a bad few days, hasn't it?"
"It has. Especially for you."
Susannah leaned her head back against the wing of the chair and despite her resolution to put Sylvanus out of her mind, she was unable to control her heart. Please let him love me, she thought, and closed her eyes. She stopped fighting with herself and gave in to what she knew to be the truth. I need him to love me, she thought. I don't want to be mature and responsible and virtuous. I don't care about right or wrong. I love him and I just want him to love me back.
Kate had just poured Susannah a cup of tea when John and Sylvanus came in. "Don't mind if I do," John said, and poured a cup for himself. "And you, miss. What have you been up to?" He picked up one of her feet and whistled. "You're lucky," he said. "A few more steps through that fire and you would have nothing left to walk on but your anklebones. As it is, I think in a day or two you'll be as good as new."
Susannah wasn't interested in her feet. "What's going on over there, John? Why did Jenny come to get you?"
"Jenny came over this morning because Edwin wet the bed, and when Abby and Mame got him up to change the linens, he knocked Mame down and tried to run out the door."
The inside of Susannah's mouth tasted like an old metal spoon. Now I really am afraid, she thought, and strangely enough the acceptance of her fear as a reality came as a relief.
John went on. "I'm at a loss to understand how a man who, by all the laws, of known medicine should hardly be able to lift his head, could knock Mame Keefe to the floor. I couldn't do it. She's a strong woman. I haven't any idea what would have happened if he hadn't lost his balance and hit his head on the door frame."
Susannah fixed her gaze on a crack just above the door. The sides of her throat felt as if they were sticking together. Calm down, she thought. Being afraid is going to do no good. It's what Edwin wants. He'll win if you let him.
"What was he like when you went over?" Sylvanus asked John.
"Weak as a kitten. Mild as a lamb. Contrite to the point of absurdity. He didn't move so much as an inch, although that could be because he still thinks he's tied down. He wouldn't say much except that he wanted you, Susannah. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was."
Susannah was slow to speak. "Sorry for what?" she asked.
"I don't know. He said he'd tell you if only you'd comeback."
No one spoke for a minute.
"Susannah," John said finally, "I don't like it. Not one bit. He didn't seem sorry. He was like a child who promises to do one thing and all the while is planning to do the opposite. I wish you would stay here."
Welcome home, Susannah, she thought. This is real. Edwin is real. His madness is real. And it's your responsibility to handle it the best way you can. "You know I have to go home, John. I can't leave those people to cope with this. It's not their problem. It's mine."
"It may very well be, Susannah, that this problem is not going to be one you can deal with." He added quietly, "And it may be dangerous for you to fry."
He came around the desk and took a tube of ointment and a roll of gauze from the cabinet. Susannah had closed her eyes but at his touch she looked down at him. "Dr. Smith's Soothing Salve?" she said.
"I don't know what's in it," John said, "but it certainly does seem to work."
"Maybe I ought to give some to Edwin in his tea," she said.
"It might do some good at that," John smiled. "I'm afraid I don't have anything better to suggest." He finished bandaging her feet. "Do you want me to take you home?"
"I will," Sylvanus said quietly.
He didn't bother to put her back on the horse, but instead carried her in silence across the road to her house. Mame met them at the door.
"I'm so glad you're back safe," she said. "Did John tell you what happened here this morning?"
Susannah nodded.
"Well, we seem to have everything in good order now. The others are at school. There's water on the stove and hot biscuits. You must be hungry. I'll be with you in a minute, soon as I finish giving the Reverend his lunch." With that she disappeared down the hall.
Susannah had been painfully aware the entire time Mame was talking that Sylvanus still held her in his arms. "You can put me down here," she said. "I'll be fine."
Sylvanus did as she asked without speaking.
"Would you like something to eat?" She hoped she sounded normal.
"No. I think I'd better go."
"Of course."
They stood facing each other in the dim light of the hall, the inches of space between them drawing her off balance, making her heart beat so hard that she was sure he could hear it.
"I want you to come back to Morgan House with me," he said. "Now."
There was concern in his voice and it threw her into a panic. "I can't," she said. "You know that."
"No. I don't know that."
"I have the others to consider." She was feeling weak.
"Bring them with you."
"That's impossible. Who would take care of Edwin?"
"To hell with Edwin. Let him take care of himself."
Her confusion was absolute. "Why are you asking this of me?" she said.
He frowned. "It isn't safe here for any of you."
"He is my husband. I owe him something."
"You owe that fool nothing," he said.
They were standing facing each other, neither understanding the emotions that were tearing at them, when they heard the back door slam shut. "My family is home for lunch," she said, forcing tears back.
Sylvanus didn't speak.
"It was kind of you to be concerned about us," Susannah said, "but we'll be just fine."
She turned away, but Sylvanus grabbed her arm and held it in an iron grip. "I nee
d to know that you're safe," he said. "Don't ask why. I don't know myself."
Susannah felt her throat aching. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll be all right." She could hear Matthew and Jenny calling to her.
"Susannah," Sylvanus said—and for a frantic second she thought he was going to kiss her again. She jerked away. I can't let you do this to me, she thought. I'm too vulnerable, too ready. And you, Mr. Morgan, I don't know what your problem is, but I have enough of my own just now. I'll get over this if you'll just let me. "Thank you for bringing me home," she said. "You won't mind if I don't see you out."
She turned and left the room. Just in time, too, for if she had stayed, she would have seen the look on his face. And if she had seen it, she would have thrown herself into the shelter of his arms and stayed there forever.
"Did you get Mrs. Snell home safely?"
Sylvanus hadn't seen Caroline sitting in the drawing room until she spoke. If he had, he would have gone directly to his room. He poured himself a drink.
"She is a devoted mother, isn't she," she said. "I can understand why you're interested in her. She's very much like Anne. And I imagine her sons will grow up to be just as fine as David was." Her eyes never left his face.
Sylvanus drained his glass. He ignored her reference to his son, but he was surprised to find that in regard to Susannah, Caroline was right. Susannah was very much like Anne. And he was more surprised to find that for the first time since her death the mention of his wife evoked only a trembling echo of sadness. "I'm really not in the mood to discuss Susannah Snell with you tonight, Caroline."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't want them here, Sylvanus. None of them," she said flatly.
"Need I remind you that I'm master here, not you?" He poured himself another drink.
"And how long will they be here?"
"Forever, Caroline. Maybe I'll ask them to stay here forever." Maybe I will, he thought, and found that the idea of having Susannah around him forever filled him with such tender passion that he sat down, stunned. I love you, Susannah, he thought. I love you. And the acknowledgment of his feelings for her came as such a shock that he quite forgot that Caroline still stood before him.
The expression on his face was not lost on her. She crossed to the window and stood looking down toward the bay. "Send them home," she said. "At once."
"May I be so impertinent as to ask why you would imagine that I would do such a thing?"
"Because I ask it. Because you owe it to me."
"Caroline, understand this. I'm beginning to think I owe you nothing. Absolutely nothing."
She turned to face him and he could see a faint pulse beginning to move in her cheek. "You owe me everything," she said.
"On the contrary," he said quietly. "Perhaps it's you who owe me."
She crossed to the door. "I want those children out of here. Tomorrow."
"Bullshit," he said flatly.
She made a sound, like the whistling of the wind, low in her throat. "We cannot all stay here together any longer," she said.
"I'm glad you see that, Caroline," he said. "When will you be leaving?"
The malice in her voice was devastating. "I'll see you in hell first," she said.
"I'm there right now," said Sylvanus, but she was already gone.
Susannah sat in her bedroom, trying to work up the courage to go to Edwin. He had asked for her several times during the course of the afternoon, but she had made herself unavailable.
"Every time he wakes, Susannah, he asks for you," Abby had said. "I really think he wants to apologize to you for wetting his bed."
"Don't be foolish, Abby. John didn't think he was sorry this morning and neither do I. I haven't any idea what he's up to, but I'm not prepared to find out. Not just yet."
"What shall I tell him the next time he asks?"
Susannah was angry. "Tell him my feet won't permit me to walk. Tell him I'm sleeping. Tell him I'm dead. I don't care. Just so long as I have some time to gather myself together." She knew she was being unfair to her cousin. "I'm sorry, Abby. I shouldn't pass this burden to you. Just one half-hour. Then I'll go down."
One hundred ten. one hundred eleven, one hundred twelve. Her scalp was beginning to ache. She put the brush down and looked at herself in the mirror with a critical eye. She ran her fingers over the faint lines at the corners of her mouth. She stood, hands under her breasts, and surveyed the line of her bust. I wonder if he thinks I look old, she thought and frowned. You are a glutton for punishment, Susannah, she told herself. She had resolved to banish every thought of Sylvanus Morgan to the farthest corners of her mind, and every time one would intrude upon her consciousness, she would whisk it away like so much carpet dust. "Don't think about him," she told her reflection. "It will only hurt. Be sensible. You have enough to think about without that too."
She took a deep breath and hobbled out of the room to the top of the stairs. She stood there for several minutes, gathering herself together, and finally, in a single act of moral strength, she went down to Edwin. When she passed the hall mirror, she was appalled at the lines of tension she saw reflected in her face.
He was awake, waiting for her. Like a blond spider, she thought, and it surprised her that she had never made the analogy before. That was exactly what he reminded her of—a hairless, bloodless, blond spider.
Coming down the stairs, she had told herself that there was ho reason to be frightened. And even if there was, the last thing she wanted to do was to let Edwin see her fear. But then she had seen her own face in the mirror, and now here he was, quietly watching with watery, heavy-lidded eyes, and she knew that as much as she wanted to deny it her terror was real and it was growing.
"My dear, my precious wife. Come closer and kiss me."
Susannah felt a wave of revulsion. She didn't move. "How are you feeling, Edwin?"
"So much better, now that you're here." His voice took on a petulant note. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
"No."
"Are you punishing me for wetting my bed?"
This is madness, she thought. It is. "No, Edwin, I'm not." She pulled a chair toward her and sat down.
Then she heard it. The liquid sound of him voiding on the mattress. She sat frozen, unable to believe it, unable to decide what to do.
"Now I've done it, haven't I?" he said, smiling. "I guess you'll have to take the ropes off so you can clean my bed."
Get out of here, she thought. Get somebody. "Yes, I will," she said calmly, and moved quickly toward the door, ignoring the blisters on her feet. "I'll get clean linen, Edwin."
She heard him chuckle as she closed the door behind her. I've got to get John, she thought. Send someone to get John. But first, some instinct sent her back. She opened the door a crack, reached inside, and found the key. She closed the door as quietly as she could, put the key in the lock, and turned it.
Edwin heard and smiled to himself. Stupid, stupid Susannah. His arms were sore where the ropes had cut into his flesh. But this would soon be over. A pity he had stumbled before and been recaptured. But then she wasn't even in the house. He would have had to come back to get her. She had to be punished. Take your medicine, bitch. Cut off your hair as proof of your vileness. Harlot. Pig. And then, take your medicine.
I will not forget this moment in my life, he thought happily. Warm and cold. Warm and cold. Watching the footprints move across the water.
He listened intently. No sound. But soon. Soon, she would be coming back, loosening the ropes to change the bed linen, freeing the eagle, lifting him to swoop down, to punish with majestic claws. Avenging angel. He liked that.
Someone is playing. Praying. Praying. He rolled the thought over and over in his mind, smiling all the while.
Susannah met John at the front door. "I'm sorry to drag you here at this hour, but what am I going to do?" Every nerve in her body felt as if it was coming through her skin. "He's soiled the bed again and wants me to take off his imaginary ropes so I can change the linen."
"That again?"
She nodded weakly and leaned against the wall to relieve the pressure on her feet. She was so tired.
"Where's Mame?"
"In her room."
"You had better get her. And Abby. Then we'll all see about cleaning him up together." He turned toward Edwin's room. "And Susannah, if something hap—I don't know what—but if something happens that we aren't expecting, get out of here fast. Don't wait for anything or anybody. You leave."
Edwin could smell them. He knew with a feeling akin to panic that she wasn't coming back alone. He could smell them. Treachery. Vile bitch. Jezebel. She was bringing the others. He began to sweat.
When they opened the door, he counted. Four of them. Too many. Too many. No escape. No punishment. Black cold. Despair. And as they loosened the ropes and lifted him from the bed, he began to cry. Quietly at first, and then with great, heaving, body-racking sobs.
After they left him, he lay motionless for a long time. He wouldn't try that method again. She would only get the others. They had bound him to the bed even more securely this time. He'd have to wait, let her think he was dead. Just wait. Don't talk. Don't eat. Don't drink. And then when she couldn't see him—because he was dead, he was dead, you see, he was dead—then she'd be sorry.
All the while that Edwin lay and planned, a few miles to the south Hendrik deWeert and his neighbors worked without sound to dig deep pits in the ground, pits in which to bury everything that wasn't nailed down— clothing, tools, even food.
Hendrik wasn't that worried, mind you, but the Belgian settlers were known for their thrift and if a chance didn't have to be taken, why take it? So they dug through the smoke-filled night, carrying all their worldly possessions into the middle of the clearing, dropping them into the pits, covering them with steaming soil.
Hendrik and his neighbors had worked all day out in the woods, trying to beat the fires to death with shovels and brooms, drowning them with pails of water, using anything they could find to extinguish the flames. They had some small success. But not enough.
